Note: Changed ‘Red Mutt’ to ‘Red Hound’. Red Hound has a nice ring to it.
The reinforcements returned in less than half a day after setting out. Before anyone could figure out what had happened, a furious Viscount Varnan stormed through the doors as if he were ready to kick them down. Both Viscount Viche and his butler flinched like startled turtles.
“Viscount! Do you even realize what you’ve done?!”
“Pardon? W-what do you mean…?”
They had returned just as they had departed, clearly without having even encountered the barbarians.
Surely the barbarians who had defeated the subjugation force wouldn’t have just vanished. So why hadn’t the reinforcements encountered them?
Seeing Varnan’s enraged face, Viscount Viche began to tremble when he noticed Count Axios entering behind him.
If something had gone wrong, the one person that should worry him was this man, Bertol Axios, the lord of Axios and a representative noble of the North.
Glancing nervously at Bertol’s impassive face, Viscount Viche tried to placate Viscount Varnan by offering him a seat.
“P-please, let’s sit and talk calmly, “
“Did the barbarians raid homes and plunder from your residents? Do you have evidence of this? Bring the harmed citizens here, damn it!”
“W-what?”
“Your so-called ‘savage’ tribe seemed quite gentle. I heard they were just looking for a place to settle.”
Cutting through Varnan’s heated tone, Bertol spoke calmly.
“I-I’m not sure what you’re talking about…”
“I’m not in the mood for wordplay.”
Bertol swept back his black hair with an irritated hand and slouched lazily in Viscount Viche’s armchair.
Though ten years younger than the viscount, his aura was far from that of a typical youth. The way his half-lidded crimson eyes swept over him made Viscount Viche feel utterly exposed. He swallowed hard.
“I hear you sent out Baron Greze on petty coins and as if that wasn’t enough, so you also offered his wife, who was staying in the castle, to the barbarians as a hostage…”
“Hk!”
Viscount Viche inhaled sharply, unable to hide his expression.
“Imagine being lectured by a mere girl barely seventeen!”
Viscount Varnan jumped in, still furious.
“Viscount Viche, are you aware of the virtues expected of nobility of the Simone Empire?”
The imperial court of the Simone Empire, renowned for its wealth and stability, preached magnanimity to its regional lords. Nobles were expected to treat foreigners with courtesy, especially those who were displaced. Harassing or expelling such people, especially if they weren’t outright hostile, was considered a disgrace to noble virtue.
The northern territories were all linked, whether they liked it or not. With other provinces constantly looking to drag each other down, it was imperative not to give them ammunition.
But Viscount Viche had not only slandered innocent barbarians, but he had also encouraged them to take a noblewoman hostage. And that noblewoman, of all people, was a daughter of the South, of Count Ruberno, no less. If word got out, not just the Viche Viscounty but the entire North would be humiliated.
“Greze has agreed to take in that tribe instead! The Baroness told us we should be ashamed of ourselves!”
Though Cassia hadn’t said those exact words, it wasn’t a surprise that the proud Viscount Varnan interpreted her scolding that way.
As that memory of Cassia once again resurfaced in his mind, Bertol Axios let out a brief chuckle.
Viscount Viche’s face turned deathly pale.
He thought the barbarians were dead-set on beheading Zester. That the Baroness was surely doomed as a hostage and yet she had not only survived but had returned with the barbarian tribe peacefully under her wing?
Of all the possible outcomes, this was the worst. Everything he did was now exposed.
He had thrown away noble pride, pushed a young lady from the South into danger, and not just any noblewoman, but the wife of the only North-born lord who had come to his aid: Baron Zester Greze.
Once this became known, the shame would go beyond him. The entire North would be humiliated. That was why Viscount Varnan trembled with anger.
“Don’t you have a brain? Where’s the use of it? How could you even consider handing a fragile noblewoman over to barbarians? Even if you feared for your life, how could you do such a thing? I suppoe you thought she wouldn’t survive anyway. Unbelievable.”
“T-that’s not…!”
“That’s not what? How are you going to resolve this? The Baroness didn’t die as you expected. She is returning safely, along with dozens of monstrous beasts under her wing! And I just know Count Ruberno will hear all about it. That the northern lords are selfish, vile, and worse than barbarians!”
“P-please, calm down first and—.”
“Quiet! Just knowing that I share the North with someone like you makes my skin crawl! From now on, the Varnan Territory will have no dealings with this damnable Viche! Remember that!”
The enraged Viscount Varnan stormed out without looking back. Viscount Viche, who had half-risen to chase after him, turned his attention to Bertol, who was still seated quietly, and began to inch closer with a groveling posture.
However, Bertol was stroking his chin in thought and muttered.
“The Baroness of Greze… she’s 17 this year, isn’t she?”
Why bring up her age all of a sudden? Viscount Viche thought but eagerly nodded anyway, anything to divert from his own misdeeds.
“She survived a hostage situation and even handled a negotiation with the tribe. Hardly a situation a young noblewoman would be expected to handle with composure.”
“R-Right…”
“But no one but the Baroness could have handled that situation, don’t you think? I know Zester and his mercenaries well. They’re not the type to talk things out. In fact, they’re worse than the barbarians in that regard. That’s probably why you wanted him to go, so he’d wipe them out without asking questions. Ha.”
“Y-yes, exactly…”
Bertol chuckled, but the viscount couldn’t read his expression at all. He broke out into a cold sweat, continuing to study his face anxiously.
“To think she returned with the tribes as a new army; quite impressive, isn’t it?”
Bertol tilted his head and asked the viscount, who quickly nodded again.
“I heard she was just a pretty face from the South, but it seems she was quite the reward for Baron Greze.”
…If I hadn’t refused back then, she could’ve been mine.
Till date, the Axios territory lacked a mistress. The Emperor himself had been trying for years to arrange a marriage between Bertol and Count Ruberno’s wealthy household.
Bertol hadn’t liked southern nobles much to begin with, and there was a ten-year age gap between him and the eldest daughter of that merchant family. He had finally and firmly declined the match after the imperial war ended, despite having received great praise for his victory as the ‘Black Lion.’
Now, however, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret.
Even after that brief encounter, he could tell that the Count’s daughter had grown up to be quite beautiful and sharp. She seemed a bit too remarkable to be the lady of Greze, a territory among the poorest in the North.
Certainly, far too good for the ‘Red Hound’ Zester Greze.
“You agree too? I thought the same. That young lady is quite clever. Seems a shame for her to be stuck in that backwater…”
Muttering to himself, Viscount Viche flinched when he realized Bertol’s sharp red eyes were staring him down again.
Bertol didn’t say another word. He simply stood from the armchair, clearly ready to leave. The viscount quickly reached out to stop him.
“L-Lord Count. I acted too rashly. Even if you’re angry, please be lenient…”
But the words died in his throat.
Because Bertol was looking down at him with a gaze that seemed to say: How disgusting.
Like a filthy, pathetic bug.
As soon as the viscount’s hand fell limply, Bertol turned without hesitation and left the room.
It was a cold, resolute exit, with no glance back.
***
Upon returning to Greze, the first thing Cassia did was arrange to meet James, who was preparing the wig business. She planned to officially invite him to the castle soon.
She intended to fund the operation and launch the business in earnest, much earlier than she had originally planned.
Cassia had always felt a lingering guilt about this. While Viscount Viche was undeniably a wicked man, it was true that the wig business had revitalized Viche and even the entire North. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was stealing credit for someone else’s accomplishment. It felt like legal theft.
But after everything that had happened, that little shred of guilt had vanished.
In a way, everything had worked out for the best. She had suffered the humiliation of being taken hostage by strangers, but the result was a stronger military for the once-impoverished territory, and the wig business now had a solid foundation to start sooner.
There was just one problem.
The quill’s feather fluttered as if pondering her dilemma, brushing lightly against her chin.
No money.
They were broke.
Honestly, she hadn’t been any better off ten years ago. But at least back then, she hadn’t felt the need to write her father.
Now, it was different.
The tribes who should’ve died under Zester’s hand had survived, and had formed a stable force under Greze’s banner. A great outcome, but feeding all those new mouths was a serious burden.
Once the wig business got rolling, they would rake in massive profits. Feeding the tribes wouldn’t be an issue then. But for now, everything was still in the setup phase. It would be a while before the business truly flourished.
Which meant: they had no money. Not a single coin.
Cassia knew this.
She hadn’t embraced the tribes without a plan, she had always intended to ask her father for help.
It felt icky, but she had no other choice. After some hesitation, she sat down to write to Count Ruberno for the first time in ages.
She wasted three expensive sheets of parchment before finally producing a single, very humble-sounding letter. That was when Zester appeared at her door.
Knock knock.
The polite, somewhat awkward presence was now oddly familiar. When she gave a brief, “Come in,” the door opened right away and Zester stepped in.
“You must be tired. You’re not sleeping?”
“If you thought I was sleeping, why did you come to my room?”
“Ah…”
Wearing a comfortable robe, Zester was even carrying a pillow under one arm, as if he was prepared to move in. Cassia couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
As she removed her robe and headed for bed, Zester hesitated. Instead of joining her, he awkwardly sat on a chair by the table.
Maybe bringing the pillow had been too obvious. But… so what?
He just wanted to fall asleep while looking at his beautiful wife. That was all.
As he rationalized it to himself, Cassia’s amused voice made his cheeks flush red.
“Aren’t you coming? Hurry up.”
“O-oh, yes. Ahem.”
He tried to suppress the grin creeping up his face and stood. But then,
…What’s this?
Zester froze.
A letter on the table caught his eye.
| ________________________
Father, it’s your daughter. I should have written as soon as I arrived, but I was so busy adjusting to things. Please understand. How have you been? This is my first letter from Greze, and I’m sorry to say… I need to ask a favor. If you have any means, could you lend me some money? The number of people I need to care for continues to grow, but the territory isn’t faring too well. You gave me a generous dowry already, and I hate to say this so soon after, but I truly need your help.
And please take care of your health. Living here, I’ve realized that losing your health is like losing everything. I miss you, Father. From Greze, ________________ |
“Ah, Honey, don’t read that, just give it me.”
Cassia quickly rushed over, but it was far too late. Zester had already read the short letter.
And the look on his face was like…
“L-listen, I…”
…like a puppy caught in the rain.
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